


Executing Protocol

by Kallanda_Lee



Series: Steve the Very Good Handler [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Crying, HTP, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kallanda_Lee/pseuds/Kallanda_Lee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to "Protocol" by thefilthiestpiglet. </p><p>Part 1 is <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5324471">here</a>. It's best if you read that one first!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executing Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Don't read if you don't like whipping, blood or HTP I guess. English is still not my first language, you are warned.

The whip came down on Bucky's naked back. Bucky braced himself, but made no sound, and no attempt to escape the strike. Even with Steve holding back, it left a red mark across Bucky's skin. Steve wanted to stop right then and there, but he knew that would make him fail the test. He already felt tears welling up in his eyes, but at least like this, with Bucky facing away, they would go unnoticed.   
  
The second strike landed on Bucky's shoulders, leaving an angrier-looking welt this time. It was too high to Steve's liking, too close to the neck, and he cursed under his breath at his lack of control of the thing. It was nothing like the shield. In fact, it was its direct opposite.  
  
Bucky must have heard him swearing. He gathered his brown tresses with his cybernetic hand, and held them up, exposing his neck. Instead of stopping this, like he goddamn should, he was giving Steve easy access. Steve felt his breathing grow erratic.  
  
"You can safely hit me there if you wish, Sir," Bucky informed him, surprisingly calm. "It's unlikely to cause permanent damage."  
  
Right, Steve thought. Because non-permanent damage was  _totally fine_  according to Hydra.  
  
He tried to direct the whip lower as he hit Bucky a third time. He could hear Bucky's breath hitch ever-so-slightly now, and it felt like someone was stabbing his heart. The fourth lash pulled something like a grunt from Bucky's lips, and Steve finally felt his tears fall, running down his face in neat lines, only to come together at the chin.  
  
With the fifth strike Bucky's knees almost buckled, but he regained composure, still holding his hair up.  
  
"Sir, if I may..."he said, pain clearly audible in his voice.  
  
"Of course."  
  
There was a silence, like if Bucky was trying to figure out how to formulate his thoughts.  
  
"Sir, I have realized you might be unaccustomed to the whip. Perhaps it would be advisable to apply more force and to strike from the wrist. Like this, it will take a while before you break skin, and I am unlikely to cry unless you do."  
  
There was a silence again after that, and Steve was literally biting his tongue.  
  
"If I have spoken out of turn I will of course accept any additional punishment you deem fitting."  
  
"Bucky," Steve could hear his own voice breaking, "it's not my intention to make you cry, or bleed."  
  
Bucky was still facing away from him and Steve didn't know if he was relieved that he didn't have to face him or if he was desperate to look into his eyes. Possibly both.  
  
"But Steve...you  _must_."  
  
Steve swore he could detect a hint of desperation in Bucky's voice. He knew hat that meant. He  _had_ to make Bucky cry, because some sadistic bastard at Hydra had deemed it the appropriate way to measure if someone was  _suitable_ to deal with the Asset.  
  
Bucky had called him Steve, not  _Sir_ and he could take a guess at what that meant, too: he was pleading to him as a friend, even if he might not realize it right now.  
  
"Okay, Buck, but you tell me the moment you start crying, okay? Not a second later."  
  
"Understood."  
  
It felt wrong, so very wrong, formulating it like an order, but he knew it would work. He tightened his grip on the handle, made a wide movement with his arm, and brought down the whip with enough force for the little spikes to break skin. Bucky let out a pained whimper, and droplets of blood formed on his back.  
  
Steve wanted to pull himself away from it, to close his eyes and pretend it wasn't happening, but he knew he needed to focus. Striking with closed eyes might cause more damage, and he owed it to Bucky to keep him safe at least.  
  
When he let the whip come down for the seventh time, Bucky cried out. All of his body was shaking with a combination of muscle fatigue and pain. His back was sweaty and blood-stained now, and some of the droplets were running down to the curve of his perfect ass. Steve realized now that Bucky had been kneeling with his legs apart in such a way that the pink pucker of his sphincter was visible. His body was leaned slightly forward while his ass was pushed back a bit. It couldn't be a comfortable position, hence the muscle fatigue. Steve realized with nauseating clarity why that was: Bucky had been trained to give his tormentors a nice view, to arouse them in case they wanted to penetrate him after a whipping.  
  
To his utter dread he could feel his own cock reacting to the sight - not the blood, but the inviting curve of Bucky's buttocks - and he had never known before this moment that it was possible to cry and be aroused at the same time.   
  
He hit Bucky again, harder than intended, losing control of his hand because of sorrow and hormones. Bucky screamed louder this time and lost balance. He toppled forward, but super-soldier reflexes made sure his hands broke the fall, and he ended up on all fours.  
  
"Good," Bucky managed with trembling voice.  
  
His whole pose looked even more sexual now, and Steve's erection would not subside, even when he tried to force himself to think that Bucky must have been raped like this hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the years.  
  
Steve wanted nothing more than it to end, but he knew what he had to do to achieve it. His eyes were stinging by now, and the neat streams of tears had long turned into rivers, covering most of his cheeks. He shifted slightly, making sure the whip would still land on Bucky's back in this new position.  
  
Bucky only let out a pathetic whimper on the next strike, and his limbs lost the ability to hold him. He fell to his chest, metal arm whirring as it was knocked from under him.  
  
It was almost unbearable thinking of hitting him again now, his back bloody, his body having lost the ability to resist. So this is what they mean when they say  _beaten into submission_ he thought bitterly.   
  
He wanted nothing more than to stop, but he knew that if he did now all of it would have been in vain. Bucky would have suffered for nothing. He lifted his arm once more, letting the whip tear at Bucky's skin one more time.  
  
He heard Bucky sob...and then again...and again.  
  
"Steve," Bucky said, almost whispering. "Steve, I am crying."  
  
Steve sobbed now, too, his own catharsis to what he had just done.  
  
"Me too, Buck, me too."  
  
He threw away the whip like it was a poisonous snake trying to attack him.  
  
Bucky took what was left of his strength and pushed himself up. His tear-filled eyes looked at Steve with a mix of curiosity and confusion. Steve didn't even try to look away. Bucky moved closer and reached for Steve's face with his human hand, but stopped an inch or so before he would touch skin.  
  
"Can I?" he asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Steve didn't even know what he was giving permission for, but he felt very strongly Bucky shouldn't need any permission for anything. The next thing he knew Bucky's fingers were on his face, just grazing over the wet skin lightly.  
  
Bucky brought his fingers back to his mouth.  
  
"Salt," he said. "You really are crying."  
  
Steve just nodded.  
  
"I never had a handler cry during punishment before. Why?"  
  
Because my heart overflows with love for you, Steve wanted to say. Because I'd have gladly taken each lash for you, he thought.   
  
"I take no pleasure from making you cry," he said instead. "Quite the opposite."  
  
There was a moment there where Steve thought he could see the Bucky from his childhood, like he was just about to snap out of it. But soon - much too soon - it was gone.  
  
Bucky's eyes dropped down between Steve's legs, seeing the erection there. He wiped off his tears and scrambled to his knees, positioning himself on all fours again, legs spread.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Sir," he said, falling back on old protocol, "I did not realize you wished to use my rectum."  
  
"I don't," Steve said, feeling new tears coming. "Bucky, I don't want that."  
  
"But you are hard and I am ready to use," Bucky said with confusion. "I know I might be too tight after weeks of disuse, but you are large and strong. You will break me in again in no time.  
  
"Bucky, please..."  
  
"I have been told the tightness is quite pleasurable to some. I will try not to cry if that upsets you."  
  
"Bucky, stop."  
  
Bucky took that as an order, but looked more confused than ever.  
  
"Of course. I just..."  
  
He cut off his sentence like if fearing a reprimand. Which was probably exactly the case, and Steve wondered what reprimand would scare a man who just took ten whiplashes willingly, and offered himself up for anal rape.  
  
"You can speak freely with me. Always."  
  
Bucky stared at him with even more disbelief, but decided to trust him.  
  
"I don't understand. You have proven competent to be my handler. This means you may use me in any way you please. You are clearly aroused. I am available for your pleasure. Why don't you use me?" Bucky chose his words carefully still, but was bolder than when he he first walked over the threshold. Steve liked that more than he was willing to admit right now.  
  
"Because it's not right to  _use_ people, Buck," Steve explained with an involuntary sigh. "I don't want you to do things because you think you  _have_  to. You should do things because you  _want_ to."  
  
"But...what I want is irrelevant." Bucky said those words with conviction, but his face was a question mark.  
  
"No, it's not, Bucky."  
  
Steve put his head in his hands, desperate about his inability to explain this, no matter how much he wanted to. He expected another rebuttal, another programmed response, but instead Bucky looked at him thoughtfully.  
  
"Is that new protocol?" he finally asked.  
  
Steve looked up at him and smiled hopefully. "If that's how you wish to see it...yes."  
  
Bucky nodded. "I will need...adjusting. But I will try to follow it, Steve."  
  
Steve got up and offered Bucky his hand. Bucky took it and got up shakily. They both looked like a trainwreck, but when Steve smiled Bucky smiled back, and Steve didn't have the heart to ask if Bucky thought it was expected, so he allowed his heart some happiness, even if it might be a delusion.  
  
"Can you walk?" Steve asked.  
  
"A little."  
  
"You can lean on me...if you want."  
  
Steve felt Bucky's arm hook itself around his shoulder, and he had to brace himself, because Bucky was putting more weight on him than he expected. It wasn't anything he couldn't take, though. He guided Bucky into the bedroom. The bed was large and the blankets clean. Steve thanked his past self for deciding to change the sheet and covers just two days prior. It was nothing fancy, but it was a luxury they did not have back in Brooklyn.  
  
Bucky stopped about halfway the room.  
  
"Steve, I'm sorry, but I still don't understand. You are taking me to bed. But you said...?"  
  
"The bed's for you, Bucky. You're hurt. You need it more than I do."  
  
Bucky looked like he was going to protest, but he allowed Steve to guide him to lie on his stomach. The sheets would be a bloody mess by morning, quite literally, but he could get new ones. He could see Bucky smelling the fresh sheets and carefully running his flesh-and-blood fingers over one of the pillows, and already he was so happy he had given him the bed.  
  
"Okay, I'll be right next door if you need anything."  
  
Steve turned to leave, but he heard Bucky call out his name before he reached the door.  
  
"Will you not do maintenance?" Bucky asked.  
  
Steve wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he could take a guess. He hoped it was the right one, anyway.  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
Bucky seemed to genuinely ponder the question.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Steve disappeared into the bathroom, picking up a few towels and a few washcloths that he dipped in lukewarm water. He returned to Bucky and sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to give him the wrong idea. He gently cleaned Bucky's wounds with the washcloths. Buck winced a few times, but made no attempts at pulling away. Steve wasn't sure he would even if he wanted to, but he hoped it wasn't too painful. The first washcloth was almost instantly soaked with blood, but by the time he got to the fourth Bucky's back looked fairly clean, and to his relief the wounds looked like they had already started healing. He dried everything off with the fluffiest of his towels, still thinking not even that one was soft enough for Bucky. He made a mental note to fix that.  
  
After he was done cleaning, he opened the night stand to pull out a first aid kit, and he briefly pondered on the fact that most  _normal_ people probably don't keep a first aid kit in their nightstand. But he had left normal long time ago. He took out a white tube with green markings. It had been a gift from Bruce after Steve got fished out of the Potomac. After  _Bucky_ had fished him out. Bruce had said something about not letting that pretty face scar. While Steve was quite sure the Serum would have taken care of it, too, the ointment was quite soothing and helped him heal even faster than usual. He spread it copiously on Bucky's back, and massaged it in tenderly. While Bucky still winced at the first few touches, the ointment seemed to take action, because as Steve worked it into Bucky's back, he could hear a few content sighs.  
  
Finally, it looked like Bucky had fallen asleep. Steve wanted so much to lean in and kiss him goodnight, even if just on the cheek or forehead - but he wouldn't, not now, it wouldn't be right.  
  
Instead he just pulled up the covers, making sure Bucky wouldn't be cold. He got up, and turned off the light.  
  
"Steve?" he could hear not-asleep Bucky ask sleepily.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You are the best handler I ever had."  
  
Steve didn't quite know how to respond to that. It warmed his heart, but it also reminded him of how incredibly messed up the whole situation was.  
  
"Thank you, Bucky," he finally said, "You're the best friend I ever had."  
  
He didn't know if Bucky still heard it, or of he could really understand it in his current state.  
But as Steve Rogers curled up on his couch that night, he decided that didn't really matter. Bucky Barnes was warm and safe in his bed. His wounds would heal, and maybe, in time his mind would too. Tomorrow Steve would try to make him soup and see if they could get rid of that infernal feeding tube. Small steps, he thought. Small steps would get them there.


End file.
